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INDEX. Page No. 

The Lark 5 

Teeter Cot 6 

You Tell Me Love Is Blind 7 

Lazy Sambo 8 

The Pause 9 

The Snow Bird 10 

Where Light Divine Ne'er Shines 11 

My Baby Girl 12 

When I Played With the Elves 13 

In a Garret on a Dark and Rainy Day 14 

Pleigh-Ho ! Heigh-Ho ! 15 

I Cannot Tell You Why 16 

Out in Sunny Kansas 17 

An Old-Fashioned Christmas 18 

My Fathers Brier Pipe 19 

An Island of Love 20 

Mammy's Watermiilion 21 

Let's V/ipe the Slate 22 

Soldier's Song 23 

Spare the Song Bird 24 

The Outcast 25 

In Memory 26 

Across the Hisls to Wyoming 27 

'^Me and Brother Will" ^ 28 

Mammy's Pickaninny Chile 29 

Going Round With Mandy 30 

Who 31 

The Songs of Long Ago 32 

My Dreamland 33 

November Wind . 34 

Ghostes 35 

My Dog and I 36 

There Is a God 37 

That's Where I Want to Go 38 

Eternity 39 

lov/a - 40 

Bickie Vvickie Wee 41 

"Come Love" 42 

My Little Sarah Jane 43 

Out in the Snov/ . 44 

Tell Me, Gentle River 45 

All in a Year and a Day 46 

The Mocking Bird 47 

¥/hat Smells Better'n Bacon Fr^/in'? 48 

Goodbye, My Old Trotter 49 

When Mother Goes to Club 50 

I Wish I Had 51 

A Babe in a Little White Bed 52 

The Masterpiece 53 

If the Truth You Only Knew 54 

I Love You 55 

¥/hen You See De Frog a Leapin 56 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/firesidereflectiOOcran 



By 

Rilla Carson Crank 






Copyright 1920 

by 

Mrs. Eilla Carson Crank 

Miami, Oklahoma 



TO MY HUSBAND 



Press of 

The O. T. DIXON PRINTING and STATIONERY CO. 
Miami, Oklahoma 



AUG 24 r.ru 

f?^ M A K -y 5; Q R R 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



THE LARK. 

The lark, the lark! I love the lark — 
The herald of the morn; 

He seems to say 

In his sweet way: 
"Another day is born," 

He sings to me from yonder tree, 
As o'er the fields I go; 

His sweetest strain 

From hill and plain 
Makes earth with beauty glow. 

At twilight when my steps I wend 
Toward home and loved ones dear, 

The lark's sweet song 

Cheers me along 
When e'er his voice I hear. 

Oh, let me fly to yonder sky 
And soar with thes above! 

For there I'd be 

From sorrow free, 
And dwell in peace and love. 



FIKESIDE EEFLECTIONS 



TEETER COT. 

(To my daughter Blanche.) 

There by the nursery window, 
Blithe and happy and gay, 

Sat my baby girl with hair aswirl, 

Dimples deep and teeth of pearl, 
Eosy cheeks and eyes of gray, — 
Singing this merry roundelay: 

"Teeter cot, teeter cot, teet, teet, teet." 

The sun came in at the window 
On the tangled hair to play 

Like the golden gleam of a crystal stream. 

And the sweet gray eyes began to beam; 
The limpid carol, like birds in May, 
Sang out on the air in the baby way: 

"Teeter cot, teeter cot, teet, teet, teet.*' 

Forlorn is the little window 

And my heart cares not to stay 
To list for the note from the warbler's throat, 
For the merry music has ceased to float; 
The sun is dim and the clouds are gray. 
The minstrel has flown away. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



YOU TELL ME LOVE IS BLIND. 

You tell me love is blind, and yet 

An error here I seem to find, 

For who could have a mighty band 
To come and go at his command, 

And yet be blind ? 

You tell me love is blind, and yet 

I know you don't believe it true, 

For you, yourself, were led by love 
From dark abyss to heights above 

And skies of blue. 

Love sanctifies the hearth and home, 

And sets a wondrous nation free; 

It rules all heaven and earth combined; — 
Ah, sweet, you know that love's not blind, 

For God is love, and He can see. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 

LAZY SAMBO. 

Yes, dis niggah sure remembahs 

Mawin's how I loved to sleep; 
Seem lak yet I smell de cawn cakes 

Fried an' piled up in a heap; 
Den de oV man sure to holler, 

Almos' raise de roof, somehow: 
"You git up, you lazy Sambo, — 

Time to milk de brindle cowl" 

Den I'd gap an' stretch a little, 

Dreadin' so a move to make; 
An' de fust t'ing I'd be snoozin,' 

Dreamin' ob de possum bake; 
Den agin de ol' man holler 

Louder dan befo', I vow: 
"You git up, you lazy Sambo, — 

Time to milk de brindle cow!" 

Den de missus come an' shake me, 

Say de brekfus' gittin' cold; 
Bless her heart! she was a angel, 

Nebber did she fret or scold. 
But de ol' man, he was diff'runt. 

Not so gentle-like, I 'low, 
Kase he'd always fume, an' holler: 

"Time to milk de brindle cow!" 

But de ol' man an' de missus 

Long ago am passed away; 
Now dis niggah takes de burden 

Ob gittin' up afore it's day. 
But I'd gib a year ob hebben 

Could I hear de ol' man now — 
"You git up, you lazy Sambo, 

Time to milk de brindle cow!" 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



THE PAUSE 

I would not mind to sleep, 

To end for aye 
The cares and sorrows of today; 
But oh, I dread 

The city of the dead! 

But there you do not stay; 

You only pause 
To throw your worn-out robe away, 

Your soul to free. 

To live eternally. 

Then on to worlds unknown 
Your soul shall go. 
Unfettered now by woe. 

And step by step advance, 
Tho not by chance. 



10 FIRESIDE EEFLECTIONS 



THE SNOW BIRD. 

Oh tell me, pretty snow bird, 

What you learn up in the sky, 

And what you do on winter days 
To make the hours go by. 

And tell me v/here you build your nest, 

In grass or bush or tree. 
And this is what she answered: 

"Ghee, Chee, Chee." 

And tell me what you feed your babes. 

You cuddle in the nest; 
I'm sure you always bring to them 

The sweetest and the best. 

And are they always happy 
As little birds should be ? 

Then the pretty snowbird answered: 
"Chee, Chee, Chee." 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 11 



WHERE LIGHT DIVINE NE'ER SHINES. 

You said to me: 
Go seek where light divine has never shone, 
E^en though you journey aye from zone to zone; 

Surely in Egypt's deserts far and wide, 
Or in some cavern dark and deep and lone. 

You'll find where heaven's light does not abide. 

For years I've sought the place you'd have me find, 
In jungles thick and caverns black and blind. 

In pathless woods, thence on from sea to sea, — 
No matter where I'd go or whither wind, 

I'd see and feel a sacred light o'er me. 

In all the world I cannot find a place 

Where aureate light beams not from heaven's face. 

Although we travel, yea, from shore to shore, 
We'll always find an unmistaken trace 

Of light divine which shines for evermore. 



12 FIEESIDE REFLECTIONS 



MY BABY GIRL. 

(To my daughter Lorene) 

What has become of my baby girl, 
With her eyes of blue, and her hair a-curl. 
Her lips like cherry, her hands like snow, 
And her cheeks reflecting the sunset's glow? 

Last night she frolicked over my knee, 
Touseled my hair, and whispered to me: 
"I love you, I love you, a bushel and more," 
Then charged me the telling of stories galore. 

On my foot she rode to Barbary Cross, 
With a shoe-string lashed her ferocious horse; 
Then she cuddled down while the tale I told 
Of the rainbow's end and the pot of gold. 

How I wanted to keep her! — ^but alack I failed; 
Far out of Babyland now she has sailed 
And mysterious maidenhood claims her its own; 
My baby has gone, — and I am alone. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 13 



WHEN I PLAYED WITH THE ELVES. 

When I played with the elves in the sweet long ago 
Great secrets they told me I oft wished to know. 

They told me how pansies got noses and eyes; 
How fuzzy worms changed into bright butterflies. 

They told of the rainbow and big pot of gold, 
And said I could go there if tight I could hold 

Onto their wings, while they flew through the air, 

And we'd ride on a sunbeam when the weather was fair. 

They told how the mother bird built her wee nest, 
And sheltered her babes snug under her breast. 

They told why the moon with his face full and bright 
Winked at the good little folks ev'ry night. 

Oh, mysteries deep, these quaint little elves 
Told also about their sports and themselves. 

And the things that I learned I wish you could knov 
When I played with the elves in the sweet long ago 



14 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



IN THE GARRET ON A DARK AND RAINY DAY. 



When the day is cold and wet 

I can hear my mother yet, 
\Vhen in firm, but gentle, accents she would say; 

"Now, this baking must be done, 

So you children all must run 
To the garret on this dark and rainy day." 

Then we'd scramble for the stairs. 

Stumbling over stools or chairs 
Or anything that happened in our way. 

Till we were bubbling o'er 

With the fun we saw in store 
In the garret on a dark and rainy day. 

First, we'd play the posy ring, 

Then our Mother Goose songs sing. 
And dance around the room so light and gay; 

But the sport we loved the best 

Was to get out Grandma's chest 
In the garret on a dark and rainy day. 

Oh, the funny things we'd find 

Of the quaint, old-fashioned kind. 
From the hoop skirts to the dresses, grand and gay; 

And the bodices so small 

Were the queerest things of all 
That we rummaged on a dark and rainy day. 

How we'd dress up in those gowns, — 
Pink and whites and blues and browns. 
And whirl about in merry roundelay! 
Then we'd each a partner get 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 15 

And dance the minuet 
In the garret on a dark and rainy day. 

Oh, those blissful memories! 

How they fill my heart with ease, 
And drive my gloomy, anxious thoughts away; 

For my childhood's sweetest days 

Were spent in joyous plays 
In the garret on a dark and rainy day. 



HEIGH-HO I HEIGH-HO! 

Heigh-ho ! Heigh-ho I 

How swift we go, 

With moon beams bright 

O^er ice and snow. 
While sleigh bells ring 

Ting-a-ling-ling. 
Heigh-ho ! Heigh-ho ! 

Heigh-ho I Heigh-ho ! 
Our steed of white, 
With sinews light 

Will carry us 
This starry night 

Where fairies go. 
Heigh-ho I Heigh-ho ! 



16 FIEESIDE REFLECTIONS 



I CANNOT TELL YOU WHY. 

My love, I cannot tell you why, — 

Though oft youVe seen my tear-dimmed eye, 

And tried to search my soul to find 

The trouble preying on my mind. 

The mask of gayety I wear 

Is but to hinder the sorrow there, 

And have you think my soul is free 

From my one life-long misery. 

I once was free from sorrow, too, 
And had as little care as you. 
Till cruelty's unyielding trace 
Left its deep mark upon my face. 
For peace and hope I've searched afar, 
And tried to hide dole's lasting scar. 
I know you wonder when I sigh, 
But, love, I cannot tell you why. 

Alone this sorrow I must bear. 

Nor ask a mortal it to share; 

How could you lend a helping hand 

When none but God can understand? 

And silent must I ever keep 

Till I lie dowTi for dreamless sleep; 

You cannot help, — you must not try; — 

Ah, love, I cannot tell you why! 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 17 



OUT IN SUNNY KANSAS. 

I've searched for perfect climes in ,/vain, 
From mountain peak to rolling main, 
And now I long to go again 
Back to sunny Kansas. 

The incense floating in the air 
Above alfalfa meadows fair 
Is one of many beauties there 
In smiling, sunny Kansas. 

The zephyr humming in the trees, 
The meadow lark's sweet melodies. 
And sunflowers nodding in the breeze. 
Are charms of sunny Kansas. 

The vaulted heaven is more blue, 
The sunset has a lovelier hue, 
And, somehow, friendship seems more true 
Out in glorious Kansas. 

And when life's joys and cares are o'er 
And I approach the further shore, 
I hope to sleep forevermore 

In peaceful, sunny Kansas. 



18 FIEESIDE REFLECTIONS 



AN OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS. 

Oh, give me an old-fashioned Christmas of cheer, 
With Santa in cutter drawn by his reindeer, 
Skimming o^er prairie with no thought of fear. 
On the road to an old-fashioned Christmas. 

Away with the auto and flying machine, 
The costly coupe and the fine limousine. 
But give me old Santa in a cutter of green. 
Dashing off to an old-fashioned Christmas. 

Our jolly, fat Santa with suit of bright red 
All trimmed in white fur, and a cap on his head. 
And a pack on his back 'most as heavy as lead. 
Are the fun of an old-fashioned Christmas. 

The turkey hen's dressed and hung out to freeze, 
Sister'll bake it with stuffing and small bits of cheese. 
And serve it just fit for the gods, if you please. 
When we meet at this old-fashioned Christmas. 

Mother's baked the plum pudding and fat pumpkin pies, 
A crock full of doughnuts, and birds that have eyes, 
For she is a jewel whenever she tries 

Her hand at an old-fashioned Christmas. 

Granny's mended our stockings, left no hole to show. 
So Santa can fill them from top to the toe, 
For a generous fellow, I'd have you to know, 
Is he, of an old-fashioned Christmas. 

And tonight when the frosty stars sparkle so clear, 
And sleigh bells go ting-a-ling far and near, 
St. Nick will not fail us, — I know he'll be here! — 
For this is an old-fashioned Christmas. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 19 

MY FATHER'S BRIER PIPE. 

(Dedicated, to my father, John M. Carson.) 
How well I remember my childhood's bright scenes, 

When at evening we'd sit near the fire, 
And father, while telling a story, would puff 

At his little red pipe made of briar. 
His face, always cheerful and lighted with smiles 

As he told us some rollicking joke, 
Became dreamy and rapt with a sweet tranquilness, 

When he made little rings of blue smoke. 

He would tell us of Jack and his wonderful bean, 

Of Joe Finley and Little Bo Peep; 
And we'd cry with delight when he told us the tale 

Of David and Uriah Heep. 
Sometimes he would tell of his boyhood days, — 

How he cradled the wheat yellow-ripe, 
While ring after ring rose and vanished away 

From that dear little red briar pipe. 

He told how he courted a sweet, modest girl. 

As he drove the old nag to the sleigh. 
How they skimmed o'er the ground in the clear frosty air 

While the moon and stars lighted the way. 
Sometimes they would sit by the fireside warm, 

Eating chestnuts and apples red-ripe; 
Then mother would blush as he praised her fair face 

And made rings from his little red pipe. 

Ah, father I would could I recall those days, 

And hear you tell those stories o'er; 
I would give all I have of earth's scanty means. 

Could I re-live those dear days of yore. 
And I hope when we're called to a world beyond this. 

With aims and ideals higher. 
That father will tell us those stories again. 

While he puffs from his little red briar. 



20 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



AN ISLAND OF LOVE 

Oh come, love, with me, 

For shadows are falling; 
The dove's found her nest, 

The whippoorwilFs calling, 

The killdee's enthralling. 

We'll seek not in vain 

An isle without sorrow, 
With moonbeams tonight 

And sunbeams tomorrow; 

No care will we borrow. 

By the clear, sparkling brook 

That is rippling and foaming, 

We'll stroll with delight, 
And ever be roaming 
In the beautiful gloaming. 

Let us linger for aye 

Where the moonbeams are brightest. 
Where love never ends, 

Where songs are the lightest. 

And souls are the whitest. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 21 



MAMMY'S WATERMILLON. 

Mammy plant de watermillon, 

An' she keep 'em nice an' clean; 
An' she knows whar's all de ripe ones, 

An' she knows whar's all de green. 
"Dis one," she says, "is de bigges' 

An' de sweetes' eber growed; 
You can hab dat watermillon 

When you gits de cotton hoed." 

How we scampered to de barnyard. 

Each one grabbin' f o' a hoe. 
An' we killed ten-thousand thistles 

Growin' side of ebery row! 
All de time Sambo was singin' 

'Bout what mammy said she knowed, 
"We kin hab dat watermillon 

When we gits de cotton hoed." 

All day long we worked an' sweated, 

Plannin' on de treat to come; 
Den at night when Mammy meet us — 

"Lawsy goodness! You's got done?" 
Den she up' an went to carbin' 

On de best one eber growed, 
An' we et dat watermillon 

Kaze we got de cotton hoed. 



22 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



LET'S WIPE THE SLATE. 

You kicked my dog and broke my sled, 
And told the boys my hair was red, 
And how I was afraid to fight, — 
But then you came to make it right. 
You said. Bill, — and it sounded fair, — 
"Let's wipe the slate and call it square." 

In later years we made a deal, 
And, Bill, I knew you'd never steal; 
You tried to get the best, — that's all, — 
And nearly sent me to the wall. 
But I forgave you then and there; 
I wiped the slate and called it square. 

And nov/ our heads are turning white, 
And soon will come the silent night. 
Bygones are buried with the past, 
And we'll be friends, — yes, to the last. 
And Bill, lets' thank our God in prayer 
We wiped the slate and called it square. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 23 



SOLDIER SONG. 

Farewell, love, — I go; 
The battlefields cry 

To combat the foe. 
To conquer or die. 
Nor count the cost high. 

Our flag 111 defend 
Tho the enemy's strong; 

I'll fight to the end 
With a smile and a song, 
And pray 'twon't be long. 

In fancy I hear 

The martial drums beat, 

My countrymen cheer 
At the tyrants' retreat 
And oppressors' defeat. 

Then farewell, — I go; 
The battlefields cry 

To combat the foe. 
To conquer or die. 
Nor count the cost high. 



24 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



SPARE THE SONG BIRD. 

Can you think what a sad world 'twould be my boy, 

If you, all our songbirds would kill? 
No harmonious music from dear feathered friends 

Would echo from woodland or hill. 
We'd have no dulcet strains from the throat of the lark, 

Nature's sweetest-voiced herald of spring; 
Nor robin outpouring melodious note 

Until heaven and earth fairly ring. 

No mocking bird warbling her song through the night^ 

Driving trouble and sorrow away. 
But the stillness unbroken by a songster we love, 

Nor one to welcome the day. 
No prairie hen raising her dignified brood; 

Bob White whistling out in the brush; 
No oriole singing in perfect accord 

With the blue bird and little brown thrush. 

No bobolink following after the plow 

Picking worms from the newly tilled ground, 
As he merrily sings for the grave farmer lad 

Who listens in silence profound. 
One whip-poor-will's left in the stately old oak, 

And he calls in a sad plaintive tone 
For the young mate you wantonly murdered, my boy, 

Leaving him and the babies alone. 

What music surpasses the song of the lark 

As he warbles his sweet matin strains, 
Giving gladness and joy to hill, valley and park, 

Giving warmth to the dull, cheerless plains? 
In the gloaming when the cares of the day are all o'er, 

And the wide world seems holy and calm. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 25 



The soft, soothing nocturne of the peaceful killdee 
Is to sad souls an exquisite balm. 

Ah, yes! this world would be robbed of much joy, 

If the days of the song bird were o'er 
Twould be a sad dirge for these creatures we'd sing 

If their voices were stilled evermore. 
Then let us, my boy, join in this crusade, 

Nor encourage by gesture or nod 
The slaughter of one; but let them all live, 

These grand prima donnas of God. 



aoc 



THE OUTCAST. 

She lived in a house with the shades always drawn. 

And people would pass with a sneer, 
Nor little they knew of the battles she fought 

And how victory would often be near. 
She struggled until she was out of the mire. 

And prayed for only a friend; 
But the world's scorn was harsh and its glances were cold, 

And she bitterly wished for the end. 

At last, weary and worn, she could naught but return 

To the path of dishonor and shame. 
Her pale face grew sad in the fast-ebbing life. 

Without home, without friend, without name. 
In a few fleeting months a little white slab 

Marked the grave of a woman once fair; 
And nobody came, and nobody mourned. 

And nobody seemed to care. 



26 FIRESIDE EEFLECTIONS 



IN MEMORY. 

Calm is his rest where he gallantly fell, 
And sweet are his dreams and eternal, 

For bravely he fought, and bravely he died, 
Yet how dear was life, and how vernal. 

No epitaph's needed to tell of his gift, i 

Nor trumpet to herald the story. 
For Freedom shall live through the cycles of time 

Where he planted the stars of Old Glory. 

Then let him sleep on in that far-away land 
Since distance our love cannot sever; 

For Tyranny's chain is broken in twain. 
And Liberty claims it forever. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 27 



ACROSS THE HILLS TO WYOMING. 

My heart leaps with joy for the day when I go 

Across the hills to Wyoming; 
On my mustang I'll ride over mountain and dale, 

Like a gypsy 111 ever be roaming. 
I am weary of living in turmoil and strife, 

I'm honing for valleys and mountains, 
I would breathe heaven's air and rest by the stream 

That bubbles in nature's own fountains. 

Oh, let me away from this trial-laden life 

Where gold is the god of the people; 
I would worship again in God's temple of love. 

Without church, without bell, without steeple. 
I'd have for my choir the birds overhead, 

My pew, a huge fallen pine; 
The sermon would come from the breeze and the brook, 

Imparting their lesson divine. 

The cry of the wolf from far-away hill. 

While the goddess of night is still reigning. 
Is as sweet as the trills of the opera star 

With her audience fawning and feigning. 
Oh, give me a home where the mountain streams leap 

Down the hillside, splashing and foaming, 
And with nature and God in peace let me live 

Across the hills in Wyoming. 



28 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



"ME AND BROTHER WILL." 

Me and Brother Will were chums 

Through all of childhood's years; 
We roamed th^ woods and clover fields 

And knew no cares or fears. 
He taught me strange and wondrous things 

Of birds and leaves and flowers; 
We played and laughed on wintry days 

And lazy summer hours. 

He showed me where the nuts grew ripe 

When autumn skies were gray, 
And where the skating was the best — 

He always led the way. 
He told me, too, the earth was round 

And that the moon and stars 
Were giant worlds just like our own, 

And people lived on Mars. 

I'd run to meet my Brother Will 

When he came from plowing com; 
He'd let me ride old Fan or Kit 

Till quite inside the barn. 
He gave them com and fodder 

And water from the well, 
Then played at hide-and-seek with me 

Till we heard the dinner bell. 

At dusk we'd o'er the meadow go 

To drive the milk cows in, 
And slowly up the path return 

With Red and Spot and Brin. 
Fido watched beside the bars 

Till we came up the hill; — 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 29 



Ah, those were happy, golden days 
For me and Brother Will! 

But we are grown, and both our heads 

Are slightly streaked with gray. 
And many years have o'er us passed 

Since youth's supernal day. 
My thoughts now love to wander back 

At twilight soft and still 
To happy days in childhood spent 

With my big Brother Will. 



^ssi 



MAMMY'S PICKANINNY CHILE. 

Mammy's pickaninny gotta go to sleep, 
Boogy man'll git you if you dalh to peep; 
See de San' Man comin', — isn't half a mile, — 
Mammy's little pickaninny chile. 

Tired little tootsies, runnin' all de day. 
Mammy had to pank him kase he runned away. 
But his trouble's over for I see a smile, — 
Mammy's little pickaninny chile. 

Close de little peepers, while I rockaby. 
Den he go to dreamland if he only try; 
He's de bestes' baby, — always wif a smile, — - 
Mammy's little pickaninny chile. 



30 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



GOING ROUND WITH MANDY. 

Just take me back to seventeen 

When frills and thrills were rare, 
And the country carnival came by, 

Or the yearly county fair. 
Youth's bashfulness was overcome, 

With pockets full of candy, 
I sought out the merry-go-round 

To ride with my girl Mandy. 

On the fortune teller's booth 

We always made a raid; 
We threw at wooden babies. 

And drank pink lemonade; 
But I was always happiest 

To have some chocolates handy. 
And hop upon the rocking horse 

To whirl around with Mandy. 

When I became quite twenty, 

And Mandy sweet sixteen, 
Somehow we chose the "lovers' tub," 

And on my arm she'd lean. 
She was like a fair wild rose, 

And I thought myself a dandy; 
And once I put the question 

Going round and round with Mandy. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 31 



WHO. 

I knew a boy who always had 

A cheerful face with smile so bright, 
Who washed himself and said his prayers 

Before he went to bed at night; 
He always did the things he should, 

And from the bad he flew, — 
But from afar I hear an owl 

Say, "Who, who, who?" 

I knew a curly headed girl 

Who kept her apron spotless white. 
Who never broke her dolls or toys. 

And was a little lady quite; 
She never spoke an angry word. 

Was thoughtful, kind and true, — 
Again I hear the wise old owl 

Say, "Who, who, who?" 

I knew a grown up man who spoke 

In accents soft and mild. 
And was as pure in mind and heart 

As any little child. 
He never stooped to drink of rum 

Or swear or smoke or chew, — 
Once more I hear this wise old owl 

Say, "Who, who, who?" 



32 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



THE SONGS OF LONG AGO. 

Oh, the songs of long ago! 
Let me hear them once again, 
Each with simple, sweet refrain, 

Sung by mother, soft and low. 

Every heart-ache, every fear, 
Vanished in the evening long 
When mother sang her song, 

Song of beauty, song of cheer. 

And now those songs with melodies 
Sweet as clover kissed with dew, 
Lovely as the sunset's hue. 

Are wafted on the evening breeze. 

Twilight songs and golden glow 
Of the soft sky's mystic light 
Seem to comfort me tonight 

As they used to long ago. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 33 



MY DREAMLAND. 

There's a land beyond the blue 

For lovers true; 

Sweetheart, let us sail today 
To a clime where elfins play, 
Bidding sorrow fly away, — 

I and you. 

Where the gentle zephyrs blow 

To and fro, 

Where the flowers in the breeze 
Bow to butterflies and bees 
And to songbirds in the trees. 

Let us go. 

On a silver lake we'll glide 

Side by side; 

In a boat of white and gold, 
With a captain strong and bold. 
And rare jewels in its hold, — 

Be my bride. 

There we'll play in golden sand, 

Hand in hand; 

Where the glad waves wash the shore 
And sweet songs lisp o'er and o'er, 
Let us stay for evermore 

On that strand. 



34 FIRESIDE EEFLECTIONS 



NOVEMBER WIND. 

Oh, cease; to blow, you wild November wind, 

You scatter withered leaves o'er hill and dale. 
You seem to murmur of a dying year, 

.And fill our hearts with sadness by your wail. 
The dumb herd hovers close beside the barn, 

(In June they scattered wide to browse and fill), 
But now they gather near, and feel the need 

Of mutual protection from the chill. 

Wild winds, blow on! Repeat your mournful song, 

Sweep over darkening valley, hill and plain; 
Since now IVe found the lesson that you bring, 

I will not of your lonely wails complain. 
For as you warn of winter's growing cold 

We huddle closer by the fireside. 
And love grows sweeter, stronger, more complete, 

When sharp and snowy storms betide. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 35 

GHOSTES. 

All de folks went off an' lef ' me, 

Tole me sho' de fire to keep, 
An' cook dat possum nice an' brown, 

An' not to go to sleep. 
But I foun' myse'f a-noddin,' 

An' I heered some ghostes say: 
"We is come to git you, Rastus, 

While de folks am gone away." 

How I runned up to de attic! 

An' I jumped upon mah bed. 
An' I pulled de kivvers 'bout me 

From mah feet up to mah head. 
But dey tore de blankets off me, 

Jumpin' on me whar I lay, 
"We is come to git you, Rastus, 

While de folks am gone away." 

Den I hopped upon mah pillow. 

An' I prayed wid all mah might: 
"Lawd, hab mercy on dis niggah, 

An' protect his soul tonight!" 
But dey danced and screamed aroun' me. 

An' I heerd dem plain as day: 
"We is come to git you, Rastus, 

While de folks am gone away!" 

All at once I stopped mah noddin'. 

An' de folks outside I heered, 
An' I looked aroun' about me, — 

All de ghostes disappeared! 
"You done eat too much o'possum," 

Dat's what Mammy had to say, 
"Kose de ghostes sho' to git you 

While de folks am gone away!" 



36 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



MY DOG AND I. 

My dog and I, we love to run 

Through woods and fields, in wind and sun, 

And find the squirrels' hiding place, 

Or give the frisky rabbits chase. 

We bring the cows at close of day; 
He follows close lest one should stray, 
And drives the last one through the gates, 
Then by the bars for me he waits. 

We watch the swallows flying by, 
Then doze beneath the azure sky; 
And as the lazy white clouds creep 
My faithful dog his watch will keep. 

And often in the boat we go; 
He lies beside me while I row, 
And sees the ripples of the wake 
We leave upon the quiet lake. 

And when I leave this earthly strand 
And at the shore I waiting stand, 
I'll ask the boatman please if he 
Will let me take my dog with me. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 37 



THERE IS A GOD. 

There is a God; O skeptic, lift your eyes 
And in the avenues of heaven see 

The myriad worlds that move in endless space 
Revealing to us God's infinity. 

Behold the stately mountain's snow-capped peak, 
The canyon and the wondrous waterfall, 

Which all proclaim with wordless verity 
One mighty God is ruling over all. 

The tiny seed that waits beneath the snow. 
The modest daisy and the golden rod, 

Disclose their great creator's matchless skill; — 
There is a God, — there has to be a God! 



38 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



THAT'S WHERE I WANT TO GO. 

I want to go West to the rolling plains, 
And live on the open prairies again, 

That's where I want to go. 
Where the latch-string hangs from every door, 
Where no one is rich and no one is poor. 
Where there's plenty for all and some left o'er, 

That's where I want to go. 

Out where the swallows are on the wing. 
Where the lark and robin all day sing. 

That's where I want to go. 
Out where the golden grain is grovni, 
Out where the rarest flowers are blown. 
Where strife for wealth and fame are unknown, 

That's where I want to go. 

Out where the landscapes fall and rise, 
And the distant hills idss the azure skies, 

That's where I want to go. 
Out where the heavens are the deepest blue, 
And the clouds, if any, are fleecy and few, 
And a hearty welcome awaits me and you. 

That's where I want to go. 

Out where the moon sheds a silver light, 
And a myriad stars twinkle at night, 

That's where I want to go. 
Out where the waters are sparkling clear, 
Where man greets man with a friendly cheer, 
And where one feels God ever near. 

That's where I want to go. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 89 



ETERNITY. 

We are cast on the sea of life 
'Mid sorrow and care and strife, 

With billows here, 

And billows there 
As we sail to eternity. 

We look for the further shore 

Where our trials and cares will be o'er, 

But the sea dashes high 

And hides from our eye 
The brink of eternity. 

Though our voyage seem dark here below, 
And our lives oft encumbered with woe. 

Yet the end will be bright 

For a glorious Light 
Will shine in eternity. 



40 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



IOWA. 

Land of my birth, supremely fair, 
With marks of God's hand everywhere, 
Long have I wandered far and free, 
But now I hear you calling me, — 
Iowa, dear Iowa! 

Your perfumed fields 'neath sunny skies, 
Your snow clad hills that fall and rise. 
Are vivid in my memory, 
And now at last I'll go to see 
Iowa, old Iowa! 

Weary am I of foreign lands. 
Of stormy seas, of strangers' hands; 
But gladly would I cease to roam. 
And live at last wit.i friends at home, 
In Iowa, my Iowa I 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 41 



BICKIE WICKIE WEE. 

Black little chicken of all of the flock, 
The mother hen pecks at you, gives you a knock; 
She clucks for your bothers and sisters, all white, 
And you, little black chick, can't have a bite. - 
But Golden Hair loves you, and calls you with glee: 
"Bickie Wickie Wee, Bickie Wickie Wee!" 

Golden Hair's bringing your dinner, — ^now run! 
Forget that your feathers are black, just for fun; 
Forget you're cast out, that your toes are all tanned; — 
Here's Little Golden Hair,— eat from her hand. 
Your mother won't hurt you the maiden will see, — 
"Bickie Wickie Wee, Bickie Wickie Wee!" 

How now, little black chick, you're getting so tall, 
Since Golden Hair took you, you've outgrown them all; 
You climb on her shoulders and peck at her nose. 
And follow behind her wherever she goes. 
You're a gay little bird, you're happy and free, — 
"Bickie Wickie Wee, Bickie Wickie Wee!" 



42 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



"COME LOVE." 

Come love and we'll row. 

You'll be happy to know, 
Far better than land is the sea dear. 

We'll ride the waves high, 

After bidding goodby 
To friends left behind you and me dear. 

What matter 'tho storms do betide. 

With you love, near to my side, 
And a promise you'll always be true dear. 

We'll sing a wild song 

As we're gliding along, 
For soon the skys will be blue dear. 

As free as the birds of the wind. 

We'll leave care and sorrow behind. 
To the soft southern zephyrs we'll go dear. 

O'er the waters we'll ride 

Like fairies we'll glide, 
And nothing but bliss will we know dear. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 43 



MY LITTLE SARAH JANE. 

I never shall forget the time 

While courting Sarah Jane. 
I always drove the pacing nag 

Through sunshine, snow or rain, 
rd take her to a spelling-bee 

At the schoolhouse by the lane; 
She always spelled the scholars down,- 

My little Sarah Jane. 

The teacher said in grammar, too, 

She was a prodigy; 
Her language was as proper 

As a college girFs could be. 
But where she was without a peer 

I always shall maintain 
Was at a lively spelling match 
In the schoolhouse by the lane. 

Of course, I was the proudest boy 

For many miles around, 
To see that sweetheart girl of mine 

Turn everybody down. 
And now she's teaching our three babes. 

The smartest on this lane; 
And soon they'll spell about as weU 

As little Sarah Jane. 



44 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



OUT IN THE SNOW. 

Out in the snow, out in the snow, 

Shelterless, friendless, with nowhere to go; 

A home, friends, and parents once were all mine, 

A father to warn me of pleasure and wine. 

But headstrong I went, not caring to know 

How someday Fd roam through the cold and the snow. 

Out in the snow, the sleet and the rain; 

In fancy I'm back at the old home again 

With kind hearts about me, and fireside cheer. 

Forgetting the cold world that now seems so drear. 

Ah could I return to that sweet long ago 

When I knew naught of wandering alone in the snow! 

The girl whose sweet presence ennobled my youth 

And fashioned a halo of beauty and truth, 

Even her I deserted when temptation came. 

And though I sank low, yet she gave me no blame. 

Without comfort she died — none could I bestow — 

Then I wandered away in the cold and the snow. 

The v/ild winds howl madly, they moan and they sigh, 

The angry flakes fall from an angrier sky; 

I v^ander alone too wretched to rest 

With this awful heart-hunger gnawing my breast. 

No more do I merit^ — we reap as we sow, 

And now I must die in the cold and the snow. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 45 



TELL ME, GENTLE RIVER. 

Tell, oh, tell me, gentle river, 
Tell your secrets once to me, 

What you learn in sun and shadow, 
While you're bounding on to sea. 

Tell me how you make the bubbles 
At the falls, to dance and play, 

How they loiter but a moment. 
Then go laughing on their way. 

Tell me of the gallant lover 
And his lady-love so fair, 

Vv^hiie they're rowing on your bosom 
In the balmy evening air. 

Tell me of the moonbeam kisses 
On your face I plainly see; 

Sacred will I guard these secrets 
If you'll tell them once to me. 



46 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



ALL IN A YEAR AND A DAY. 

She has grown from a babe so helpless and wee, 

All in a year and a day. 
She has learned to prattle and learned to walk, 
She has learned to love us and learned to talk, 
She has learned the birds in the trees to mock, 

All in a year and a day. 

She has taught us that love can't be purchased with gold, 

All in a year and a day. 
She has taught us how rich a poor man can be, 
With a prattling bright-eyed babe on his knee. 
And heaven is here for my girlie and me. 

All in a year and a day. 

Lord grant that I keep her as good as she's grown. 

All in a year and a day. 
Give her wisdom and strength, may her life be a light 
To lead other feet in the pathway of right, 
And all through her life, keep her pure in Thy sight, 
As she's now at a year and a day. 



FIRESIDE EEFLECTIONS 47 



THE MOCKING BIRD. 

As I sat in my hammock one morning in June 
I heard in the distance a beautiful tune; 
The singer was poised in the old cherry tree, 
And the lay that he sang seemed happy and free. 
At first it resembled the lark of the mom, 
Then afterward changed to the jay bird of scorn. 

He flew from the tree to the old fence of rail 

And whistled the notes of the prim little quail. 

The whippoorwilFs song was the next one I heard, 

And I thought, "Was there e'er such a wonderful bird?*' 

Back he darted again to a limb of the tree 

And sang the low tones of the soothing kildee. 

He warbled the bobolink's song we all love; 

In a breath it was changed to the coo of a dove. 

He sang as a bluebird and little brown thrush; 

Next as a robin as he flew to the brush. 

He there sang the song of the cockoo forlorn 

Which ended his medley that bright summer morn. 



48 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 

WHAT SMELLS BETTER'N BACON FRYIN? 

Chicken dumplings good for dinner 

Roasted goose a golden hue; 
And a thick and juicy pork chop, 

Or a bowl of Irish stew. 
But I'd like to ask a question, 

Hope you'll not consider bold, — 
What smells better'n bacon fryin' 

Mornings, when its nippin cold? 

Roast beef served with sweet potatoes 

Done in regular Southern style; 
Or a ham bone boiled with cabbage, — 

Smell it almost half a mile; 
These are temptin' dishes, always, 

The very best on earth, Fm told. 
But nothin' beats good bacon, fryin' 

Mornin's, when its nippin cold. 

Oysters fried are sure delicious, 

So are channel cat and perch; 
Quail on toast and lobster salad 

Leave the others in the lurch; 
Porterhouse is fine for breakfast 

For the young as well as old. 
Say, but what beats breakfast bacon 

Mornin's when its nippin cold? 

You can have the fancy dishes 

If you have the price to pay, 
Served up in the latest fashion; 

But again I want to say, — 
From the kitchen comes an oder 

You can't substitute with gold, — 
Nothin' smells as good as bacon, 

Mornin's when its nippin cold. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 49 



GOODBYE, MY OLD TROTTER. 

Goodbye, my old trotter, goodbye! 
You once were so proud and so gay; 

You sped o'er the ground as swift as the wind 

Leaving all others many paces behind, 
But that time has long since passed away. 

Goodbye, my old trotter, goodbye! 

For years you've been trusty and kind; 

Twice a week you took me to see little Bess, 
But, alas, ran away the night she said "yes," 

And left us to foot it behind. 

Goodbye, my old trotter, goodbye! 

Your record has been unsurpassed; 

YouVe galloped away with my babes on your back. 
Sometimes only one, and sometimes a whole pack, 

And you'll be dearly loved to the last. 



50 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



WHEN MOTHER GOES TO CLUB. 

On Fridays Mother goes to club, 

For that's the day they meet; 
And we boys have a peck of fun 

A-gadding on the street. 

Of course we have our meetin' place 

With Sam and Willie Brown, 
And several of the bigger boys, — 

The liveliest in town. 

We play we're "heap big Indians," 

With arrow and with gun, 
And scare the children most to death. 

Then laugh to see them run. . 

When we went on the war-path 

With tomahawk and paint. 
We chased a bunch of girls so fast, 

Sal Jones fell in a faint. < 

When pa comes home and finds the house 

Shut up and dark and cold. 
He paces through the rooms, and then 

Begins to fret and scold. 

We boys are tickled most to death 
When Mother's Club's to meet, 

Cause we just have a peck of fun 
A-gadding on the street. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 51 



I WISH I HAD. 

I wish I had a thousand tongues 
To say the kindest things 
To the tired and discouraged ones, 
And see their ills take wings. 

I wish I had a thousand arms 
To cuddle to my breast 
So many helpless orphan babes, 
And coo them unto rest. 

I wish I had a thousand hands 
To brush the tears away 
From all the sad faced children, 
Then watch them laugh and play. 

I wish I had a thousand feet 
To run on errands of love 
For the sick and the afflicted, 
Their aches and pains remove. 

But since IVe only my small share, 
I'll do in my weak way 
The most for all around me, 
And do it every day. 



52 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



A BABE IN A LITTLE WHITE BED. 

I passed every day by a little brown house, 

All shaded by maple and pine; 
At the front grew roses and pansies and pinks, 

At the back grew sweet columbine. 
I always admired this dear little home 

And found myself turning my head. 
For there in the window, so close I could touch, 

Was a babe in a little white bed. 

So tiny at first was this dear little one — 

(I must tell to you now 'twas a Miss) — 
And her cupid's bow puckered and ready to smile. 

It seemed to be made for a kiss. 
Her lips were like cherries, her eyes a dark brown, 

And chestnut curls covered her head; 
She dimpled and cooed and laughed merrily, 

This babe in her little white bed. 

But, ah, the time came when I saw her no more 

On her little bed spotlessly white; 
I missed the sweet smile, the dimple and coo. 

The eyes always laughing and bright. 
To girlhood she grew, then maidenhood fair 

She reached as the years quickly sped; 
But as innocent, pure and lovely she is 

As the babe in the little white bed. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 53 



THE MASTERPIECE. 

Proudly you hung on the stately walls 

Of my lady grand and gay, 
While critics gazed and knelt at your shrine 

As they gladly passed your way. 
And each with envy your comrades hung, 

That you were the master's pride. 
For the artist had labored long and hard 

And had cast the others aside. 

Today I am shocked to see you hang 

On the walls of a humble cot, 
Hidden away from artists' eyes 

Where critics see you not. 
Tell me your story, why did you fall 

Down from your pinnicle high ? 
Did you wish to choose this secluded spot 

From e'en the passerby? 

A tragedy came to this stately home 

And scattered us far and wide 
And I was willed to a humble son 

Who lives at a country side 
And 'tho no critics praise me now 

To the end I'll know, if you will, 
'Tho cast with the common untrained eye, 

I am the Masterpiece still. 



54 FIEESIDE EEFLECTIONS 



IF THE TRUTH YOU ONLY KNEW. 

If the truth you only knew, 
Of the many battles fought 
By your brother day by day 
Whom you counted down and out, 
If you knew his many heartaches. 
Knew his motives, good and true, 
Would you censure him so harshly. 
If my friend, you only knew? 

Could you see his cherished idol 
Shake and crumble at his feet. 
Hear his soul cry out in anguish, 
See him bravely face defeat. 
See him once again take courage, 
Try with vigor born anew. 
Would you think him such a coward 
If the truth you only knew ? 

Could you know the dangerous pitfalls 
Planned by foes to make him fall, 
See him struggle ere he staggered, 
Losing home and friends and all; 
Ah! my friend you'd be no critic. 
If his soul was bared to you. 
You would pity where you censure 
If the truth you only knew. 



FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 55 



I LOVE YOU, 

I would not have you free from err 

Your soul without a scar, 
And see you trod this world alone. 

I love you as you are. 

I see you struggle ever toward 

Perfection's mark afar, 
And meet defeat along the way. 

I love you as you are. 

Oh! happy, thoughtless, careless, child; 

You make my world or mar. 
I would not have you change a bit. 

I love you as you are. 



56 FIRESIDE REFLECTIONS 



WHEN YOU SEE DE FROG A LEAPIN. 

July is 'bout de hotest month 
And de dryest ob de yeah, 
De co'n am bu'nt an' blow'd away, 
Yo's pretty apt to heah; 
But I jes riz up my finder 
And pints to dis refrain. 
When yo' see de frog a leapin, 
Dats a sine it's goin' to rain. 

De farmers get excited 
Bout de middle ob July, 
Dey say it ain't no use to plow 
De groun's so hard and dry. 
Den dis niggah has to tell em, 
Dat dey musn't go insane, 
When dey see de frog a leapin 
Dats a sine it's goin' to rain. 

Oh, dees pessimistic fellows 

Lookin 'on de darkest side. 

If dey'd wait a few days longah 

Den dair hearts would swell wid pride; 

But dey keep a whine an' fretin, 

'Till dey gives us all a pain. 

When you see de frog a leapin, 

Dats a sine it's goin' to rain. 

Some folks dey jus cuss de country. 
Say dey's goin' to leab it sho' 
And hunt fo' greener pasters 
Whah dey'd heah ob drouth no mo'. 
Den dis niggah takes 'em walkin' 
Fro de co'n fields and the cain 
And sho's dem frogs a leapin,' 
Whats a sine it's goin' to rain. 




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